


best foot forward

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15040763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: The way he wants Masako right now somehow fits in the same way everything in this relationship does, laying forth his emotions before he’s ready to feel them.





	best foot forward

**Author's Note:**

> more of the snowboard au started with ['stick the blind landing'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687812), though this fic ought to stand on its own

Tatsuya’s a little tired and stiff, but he can’t complain. He’s been doing a commercial shoot all day, and while that’s not a complete vacation it’s still a luxury and the result of winning a gold medal. A hell of a lot of people would kill to complain about talking about that on screen while shilling fast food—not that Tatsuya would complain to them. Or anyone, really; his parents are out at the movies and his phone’s still and quiet in his pocket. The cat doesn’t seem too inclined to spend much time with him, either, so it’s just him and a greasy bag of burgers and the liquor cabinet for dinner.

He’d told Masako to call him on her lunch break, but that’s still probably half an hour away. She’d cut her own trip back home short and gone back to the lodge they train at, for reasons she’s left unexplained so far and that only make Tatsuya want to get out of here sooner. He loves being at home, making the rounds at the skate parks where he spent a good chunk of his childhood, hanging out with friends and doing the things he always misses when he’s away, but being away from Masako the past few weeks has felt surprisingly unpleasant.

Though it’s the first time in the seven months since they’ve been dating that they’ve spent more than a day or two apart, Tatsuya’s lived most of his nearly twenty-six years without Masako. He hadn’t expected it to be uncomfortable, only that he’d miss her like he had before all this had started. Perhaps it’s weirder because they’ve been training together the whole time, two separate kinds of intimacies thrown together like a badly-shuffled deck of cards. Tatsuya had come in expecting their situation not to work but hoping it did despite himself, that he could be Masako’s student and her boyfriend and that Masako could be his coach and his girlfriend, that the conflicts and their stubbornness wouldn’t drive them apart. It never had before, but that was simpler, Masako’s feelings nonexistent and his own locked away somewhere behind his appendix. Equally unnecessary. But it had worked, and it’s still working, and it’s weird not to have that, to cut off and disengage and be miles and time zones and latitudes away. Tatsuya’s an independent guy; he doesn’t consciously define himself in terms of anyone else (his ambitions, yes, but those aren’t him). He knows how to exist without Masako. She’s not keeping him upright, and he doesn’t need her but—he wants her.

Tatsuya fixes himself a vodka soda and pulls his burger on top out of the bag and unwraps the foil around it. Pickles and ketchup are soaking into the bun; it’s been squished against the meat and he can grip it easily in his hand despite the extra toppings. He shoves it into his mouth; it’s lukewarm but still fucking delicious and goes down easy. (He's definitely lost a little bit of muscle out here, but he’ll put it back again soon, ramp up to get himself back in shape fast for the winter.)

The way he wants Masako right now somehow fits in the same way everything in this relationship does, laying forth his emotions before he’s ready to feel them. Masako doesn’t take that as her advantage; she accepts them as they are, not cut with the same focus that his initial longing had. (Or, when they’re inappropriate jealousies and immaturities, she tells him to cut that shit out, but in a way that makes him feel like he can do better, not like he should but the battle’s already lost, the way he feels so often when reprimanding himself.) And juxtaposed against that, the bits of self-loathing Tatsuya’s kept relying on, that he hadn’t stamped out but had used to fuel himself, are fighting a losing battle, and Tatsuya’s not fighting to hold on.   


Tatsuya’s phone buzzes in his pocket; it’s Masako. He sets his drink down on the counter and slides his finger across the surface of his phone screen.

“Hello.”

“Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya closes his eyes and tips back in his chair, trying to imagine Masako, in the lodge cafeteria or her room’s kitchen, the familiar tacky decor and her jacket draped over the back of the chair.

“Masako.”

“How’s LA?”

“Nice and warm,” says Tatsuya. “How was Akita? How are the slopes?”

“Fine and fine,” says Masako. “We just got the first real snowfall.”

Tatsuya hums. “You weren’t planning to come back until next week, though.”

“No,” says Masako. “I got a phone call I wasn’t expecting.”

Tatsuya raises his eyebrows. Masako can’t see, but maybe she knows he’s doing it. “Do tell.”

“You know Asahina Daigo? He was an alternate on the senior team last Olympics.”

“Yeah,” says Tatsuya. “Not well. I don’t think he likes me.”

Asahina hadn’t looked particularly happy to see anyone, but he’d kept looking at Tatsuya with the same intense glare. Tatsuya’s used to it; he’s a relative outsider who grew up somewhere else and made the shortlist for their national team, and so before he’d won the gold it was easy to see him as someone who shouldn’t be there (and that’s the way Tatsuya had seen himself to some degree).

“Really,” says Masako. “Actually, he wants me to train him. He wants to beat your boy Kagami, and since you beat him I must have the secret.”

“What did you tell him?” says Tatsuya (though he already knows the answer).

“That I can’t do it for him. I can teach him what I know, but it’s on him to actually apply it and keep up the work.”

“And?”

"And I took him on.” Masako sounds a little resigned and annoyed.

Tatsuya laughs. “How’s he as a student?”

“He has a good work ethic and he’s eager to learn and push himself, but his fundamentals are pretty awful. He trained at that snowboarding school in Tokyo that the Aida family used to run—I think that’s how he knows Kagami—but he cuts a lot of corners and he doesn’t know his own style.”

“Doesn't sound too different from me back then,” says Tatsuya.

“You were nineteen and coming off an injury. You didn’t trust your body and you were hardly an open book, but you had a style that suited you.”

“So he’s more of a challenge than I was.”

“I don’t know what answer you’re trying to get me to give you,” says Masako. “But I know you like being difficult.”

Tatsuya leans back. “I’m a difficult guy. I don’t want to go against my nature.”

Masako does not contest this.

“Anyway,” says Tatsuya. “That why you’re teaching him? Because you like challenges?”

“He’s got talent and motivation," says Masako. “If he gets rid of his bad habits and stops imitating Kagami, well—I’d like to see that.”

“I didn’t have talent,” says Tatsuya.

“This isn’t about you. And yes, you did. And no, believing that doesn’t diminish anything you’ve accomplished.”

Tatsuya bites his tongue to keep from retorting that no, it’s all hard work and luck and circumstances that’s gotten him here, but he’s not going to fight with Masako over the phone when she is at least half-right. This isn’t about him, and it’s not some stupid competition over whether he or Asahina is the favorite student. Tatsuya can fucking deal with it.

“I’m sorry,” says Tatsuya. “That was inappropriate.”

“Yeah,” says Masako.

She exhales, and Tatsuya waits.

“Anyway,” says Masako. “You’re not the only one making that comparison all the time. He’s always asking me if this is what I showed you, or how I showed that or the other to you. Most of the time I just ignore him, but he’ll probably ask you the same kind of thing.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” says Tatsuya.

“Sure,” says Masako. “You’re coming in Friday evening?”

“That’s the plan,” says Tatsuya. “You and Asahina gonna throw me a welcome back party?”

“I’m sure you’ll be up for that,” says Masako.

“Maybe something more private,” says Tatsuya.

“I don’t want you to fall asleep halfway through foreplay.”

“I would never,” says Tatsuya, feigning offense.

“Of course,” says Masako. “I’ll buy scented candles. You can wait outside while I light them all.”

“And you’ll pick me up and carry me inside because I’ll fall asleep waiting?”

“We’ll see,” says Masako.

Her tone is warm; she doesn’t completely dislike the idea. Tatsuya could do without the scented candles and waiting outside and falling asleep, but nothing feels quite so good as when Masako lifts him with no signs of struggle in her face or body, her toned body pressing against his. It’s not really the time for phone sex on her end, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try.

“What are you wearing?”

“Tatsuya.”

“Masako?”

She clicks her tongue. He wants to see it; he wants to see her.

“Soon,” she says.

“Soon,” he echoes.

* * *

Tatsuya’s back almost two days before he gets back out on the slopes. His flight’s an hour late on Friday; he falls asleep at four in the morning on Saturday, just as Masako’s getting up, and he sleeps all day and most of the night. He hasn’t worked out since Thursday, so he makes himself go to the empty gym and run on the treadmill and lift weights until he doesn’t feel like total crap, showers and feels like he ought to just go back to bed again but that would screw up his sleep schedule.

The promise of meeting Masako at the top of the hill, stealing some of her coffee and getting a feel for the snow cancels all of that out and elongates his strides on the way up the slope, board tucked under his arm. The wind nips at his face like a playful cat, a slight pinch of its jaws against his skin. It’s good to be back. The snow gives slightly under his boots; there’s not much of a trail. It’s not peak season and the lift’s right nearby, though this is more than walkable.

He’s been chewing on Masako’s words since she’d said them a week ago, that he did have talent and that it doesn’t diminish any of his accomplishments. Masako wouldn’t lie about it; she wouldn’t be mistaken. She’d know. Compared to Taiga, Tatsuya might as well have none (scaling it down, at a certain point, he does have none, relatively). That’s what had come to matter most. It had stung to see the the basic skateboarding tricks he’d had to practice for months mastered by Taiga in a week, and it had ripped him open trying to keep ahead of Taiga. (Quite literally; he raises his hand to his forehead to touch his eyebrow, the scar tissue faded beneath it.) The chips he’d stacked on his shoulder, starting with less in every area and compensating with hours on the halfpipe, studying videos, moving his feet just so, practicing his balance—is a point of pride.

Tatsuya’s going to end up thinking himself in circles here. He’s not getting at the heart of why it would bother him to say he’s talented. He’d gotten used to thinking of himself as a gold medal winner, as someone who’d beaten Taiga; that hadn’t been this difficult. But that’s indisputable. In truth, it’s easier to think of things as absolute. Taiga has all the talent; Tatsuya has none. Taiga works hard; Tatsuya works harder because he has to, because he can’t quit, because the gap between them is a chasm, a bottomless half-pipe turning into a black hole. It’s easier, even if it’s not true, and Tatsuya’s afraid thinking differently will make him take his foot off the gas and set himself back. He needs to control himself, in a sport that relies on surrendering himself to the snow and the air—maybe that’s his mistake. (He’s better than he once was, about getting too caught up in talent and raw skill and imagining everyone else thinks they’re better than him because they started out with more. Not all the way, though.)

Bringing up his lack of talent (relative or otherwise) when it’s irrelevant needs to stop. He can’t keep doing that, and maybe that’s the point Masako’s making. Even if he’s preoccupied with it, he can’t force it into things. That goes with inserting himself into situations where it’s not about him, which ties neatly into Masako’s other point—but she’d meant all of her words, point or no point. Tatsuya’s still not sure how he wants to feel about that.

The end of the path, the top of the hill, is within reach, and Tatsuya hastens his pace. He doesn’t do much outside the half-pipe now, but the slope’s where he learned to really board and fully felt the difference between snowboarding and skateboarding. His sentimental attachments have nothing to do with this, though; it’s just how Masako trains, a natural fit for his own way of learning even if it’s for a different reason.

There’s a person at the top with Masako; Tatsuya assumes it’s Asahina (it’s the right size for him, anyway), and as he comes closer Masako’s body language becomes more apparent. Definitely him.

Tatsuya raises his hand in greeting. Masako’s eyes flash toward him and she gives a half-wave; Asahina turns sharply on his board. His goggles are pushed up on his head and there’s a red rim around his eyes; he seems to be scanning Tatsuya for something.

“Asahina, this is Himuro Tatsuya.”

“Hi,” says Tatsuya.

“Hi,” says Asahina.

He pulls his goggles down over his face again. “Coach?”

“Pay attention to your knees,” she says.

Asahina nods, sets up, and takes off down the hill, sweeping a very pretty arc in the snow.

“Slopestyle?” says Tatsuya.

“He’s better than you,” says Masako, her mouth twisting into a grin. “But his stance is hard on his knees and he’s too used to it.”

Asahina’s too small in the distance for Tatsuya to tell, so he shrugs and plucks the thermos of coffee from Masako's jacket pocket. She takes hers with cream, not his first choice but he doesn’t particularly mind it to warm him up.

“That’s insubordination,” Masako says.

Tatsuya gives it back; he’s finished, anyway. Asahina’s reached the bottom and is making his way over to the lift, barely more than a dot in the snow. He ought to get a move on, if only so Masako has time to watch him before Asahina gets back up there. His gloved hand is still on the thermos; he leans over and kisses Masako.

“You look good.”

“You can't even see most of my face. Focus on the slope.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Tatsuya locks his board onto his feet, gains his bearings, and takes off.

His body expects wheels and asphalt below it, but it switches gears after about a second and a half of plowing through the snow. Tatsuya’s a little off-balance but gaining speed; he leans back and listens to the scrape of the bottom of his board against the snow. He’s not going too fast; he’s never been big on speed (less time on the slope, less time with the board under his feet; make one more run last longer when you double up on yourself, catch the air and turn yourself around and land two feet uphill thanks to your momentum). His balance on the snow isn’t great yet; the surface is too different and he gets too used to the skateboard’s wheels and the hard surface below them, nothing strapping his feet down to the deck.

There’s a miniature ledge made of a snowdrift; Tatsuya angles his board toward it. It’s enough lift for him to get 540 and land turned the other way, leading with his left foot. He hates the regular stance, but it’s better to work on that and hate it less. Land both ways; he always does better in competitions when he does that. Tatsuya leans forward—maybe he can get another 540 in there before the bottom.

* * *

Asahina reminds Tatsuya a little of himself when he was younger. It’s got nothing to do with the drive to beat Taiga; that comes from a different place and one that makes Tatsuya want to tell him not to put people up on pedestals they can’t balance on. That’s not his business, really, and Asahina and Taiga are nothing like Taiga and Tatsuya were. There’s no self-created pressure; if there were Taiga would handle it better than Tatsuya could ever hope to.

He doesn’t snowboard like Tatsuya, either; his body and form are much closer to Taiga’s, louder and grabbing air even when he’s going down the mountain. But he pushes himself the way Tatsuya does; he does have bad habits but there’s stuff and technique he’s picked up on that it looks as if he’d taught himself. Unlearning, relearning, and losing those things is hard for him; it was hard for Tatsuya, too (it still is, sometimes). Asahina’s frozen mouth has bit back retorts to Masako on what he should and shouldn’t do more times than Tatsuya has fingers to count on this morning, and though the instinct is the same the ultimate result is a little different.

“You know,” Tatsuya says on the way to lunch.

Asahina glances at him, as if trying not to look surprised that Tatsuya would start a conversation.

“You can talk back if you want to. When you don’t agree with Coach’s advice.”

Asahina doesn’t say anything.

“Did she say you couldn’t?”

Asahina shrugs. “My last coach wasn’t too fond of when I did that.”

“Well, your last coach sucked then,” says Tatsuya. “Coach is usually right, but not all the time. And if you think you are, either you’re right and both of you learn or you’re not right and you might realize quicker when you talk it through with her.”

“Okay,” says Asahina, in a tone of voice that says plainly that he doesn’t appreciate unsolicited advice (yet another thing they have in common).

They walk the rest of the way into the lodge in silence, but as they wait for the elevator Asahina breaks it.

"Are you and Kagami friends again?”

Tatsuya blinks.

“I just…I read in a magazine. Before Kagami came and trained in Tokyo. That you guys weren’t friendly anymore.”

“Yes,” says Tatsuya. “We’re friends.”

(It’s simpler than the truth, that he’d never use a word like that to describe what they are; even rival or brother or both is insufficient, and always has been. But he’s not going to get into that with a kid he barely knows.)

“Oh,” says Asahina. “Uh, cool.”

He smiles at Tatsuya before they go their separate ways, and Tatsuya smiles into the air. Masako’s already in the room, scrolling through something on her phone. The top button of her shirt is undone, probably related to the cracked window more than anything else. He hasn’t gotten a real, awake look at her since coming back, and damn—her cheeks, her skin, her eyes framed by her lashes and her bangs. Her everything.

“Lunch is in the fridge,” says Masako. “I can reheat the rice if you’d like.”

Tatsuya doesn’t really care; he’s fucking hungry and he needs a shower and a nap and food is food. And Masako is here, her eyes trained on him but not his form or his moves or anything else about snowboarding. She props herself up on her elbows to kiss him, soft and firm but not inviting anything more.

“You look good,” Tatsuya says (no way she can refute him now).

“Thanks,” says Masako.

She looks as if she's trying to keep from smiling; it’s cute.

“I missed you,” she says, and her face finally relaxes.

“Missed you too,” says Tatsuya.

He was going to talk to her about Asahina, or about the nutritionist, or his board; all of that seems to be sliding off his mind like a badly-built house from its foundations in an earthquake. Lunch. Shower. And then he can fall asleep next to Masako. She watches him peel off his hoodie and then his sweaty t-shirt; he glances back and her face is still soft.

Fuck, he missed her more than even he’d known.

**Author's Note:**

> i might have tried to stuff too much in here lmao
> 
> please let me know if you have any issue with the way i wrote the snowboarding part.


End file.
